


a circular promise

by Areiton



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mentioned Kate Argent, Suicidal Thoughts, The Hale Fire, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:37:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: The man who sits next to you is older, broad and handsome with thick dark hair and two day scruff and familiar eyes, so painfully familiar. You stare at him and you almost don't notice the other man.





	a circular promise

It's been three days since they put the fires out, dragged your families remains from the burnt out shell of your home. You've spent hours in the shower, scrubbed yourself raw until your nose itches with it, and you can still smell it, the scent of fire and ash and flowers. 

You want to throw up. 

Laura is reeling, struggling to control her new powers and to sort through funerals and taking care of Peter and it leaves you alone, shaking with fear and rage. 

You don't know if it would be worse, to have her attention. If she knew about Kate--she would hate you. And you've lost so much. It's selfish. 

You know it's selfish. 

And you hide it, tuck it down deep, a shameful secret you won't ever share. You steal into the family vault and find what you need because you don't know if you can do this. Be here, still, without your family. Your pack. 

You're sitting in the chapel, and its quiet, the closest thing to peaceful you've had since the fire ripped through your world. 

The door opens and you smell the two scents, one wild and electric, teasing you. The other is sharp and almost familiar, almost  _ pack _ and it jerks your head up.

The man who sits next to you is older, broad and handsome with thick dark hair and two day scruff and familiar eyes, so painfully familiar. You stare at him and you almost don't notice the other man, tall and lanky and  _ gorgeous  _ with pale, mole speckled skin and dark spiky hair. His eyes are whiskey bright, almost beta gold but he isn't a wolf. He is electric and human and strange.

He eyes you before stepping back and the other man, the  _ familiar _ man says, softly, “It wasn't your fault.” 

You snarl a little, “You don't know what your talking about.”

“You think, because you trusted her, it's your fault.” he says, casual and assured. You stare at him, heart beating too fast. “But its not. She lied to you. She used you. And you won't believe me right now, but it's not your fault, Derek.”

You want to fight, want to rage, want to tell him he's wrong, wrong,  _ wrong.  _

You don't. When animals are afraid and being hunted, they make themselves small and still and hope they aren't noticed and you do that, now, but you can  _ feel _ them watching you, something fond and knowing, curious and intent in them. 

“I just--it would be better--she wouldn't want me if she knew.” 

The other man doesn't answer for a long time. Then. Quietly. “She needs you. She's lost everything and if you do it--if you take the wolfsbane you stole from the vault--you’ll take the last thing she has and she will be alone. Are you going to do that to her?” 

You feel your gut twist, because how does he  _ know?  _ And how can you live, with what you've done? 

“I know you don't believe me,” he says, “but one day. You'll be happy. You’ll have a pack and someone you love and you won't be fighting all the time. You won't be running and you will still miss them. You are  _ always _ going to miss them. But, Derek,” he pauses and you look at him. At his earnest wide open eyes and the other man, a comfortable shadow at his shoulder. “You  _ will  _ be happy again. You will fight for it and when you find it, when you find  _ him,  _ you hold on to it. To him and the pack and your happiness. Because you deserve that. You deserve him.”

You stare and you wish you could hear a lie in his voice, in his heart beat, but it's not there. There is nothing but affection and concern and contentment. 

“Why do you  _ care?”  _ you ask, hoarse and shaking and behind him, the other one snorts. He shifts, and you see a tattoo on his wrist as he runs his hand through his hair, a dark triskle. 

It feels like a promise. 

You stare at it and you almost miss it, the quietly murmured, “We gotta go, big guy.” 

He nods and you. You feel a sharp spike of panic. 

“Don't go,” you say, desperate. “Just. Who  _ are  _ you?” 

He smiles, crooked and small, a little tragic, and you know. You  _ know _ . Your stomach swoops and the other one smiles at you, lopsided and affectionate. “Just trust us, big guy,” he says and it licks through you, that easy endearment. The other one--the other  _ you _ \--glares at him and his grin kicks wider, unapologetic. 

He--You--pull yourself forward, into a rough hug and he whispers, “Be strong, Derek. He's coming. I promise you he’s coming.” 

You nod against him and then he's pulling away and he ducks his head as Laura enters the chapel. 

She doesn't notice him, but you see it. The hitch in his steps. The way his head jerks toward her and the hand that tightens as the other guy tugs gently on the older version of yourself. 

And then the door is closing and they're gone. 

You get lost in it all, the funerals, the packing, the guilt. The anger. 

But it rings in your head, his words, and that triskle, both burning like a promise. Later, when you are tired and jaded and anger is the familiar weight that anchors you, you make that promise real. When the tattoo is burned into your back, it feels like a vow. 

And years.  _ Years  _ later, when you are broken again and you have almost given up on him, on  _ them,  _ you walk into the preserve. 

You find two kids, two  _ children _ . One a new wolf and one with eyes as golden as a beta.And you smell something wild and electric. 

*** 

He traces circles on your chest, still sweaty, breath uneven puffs. He smells wild and electric and so much like you it hurts a little, a scent familiar to you after all these years. He watches you with heavy amber eyes, beta gold, more wolf-like than you can believe. 

“Are you happy?” he asks. 

He does that sometimes, even now.

You smile and nod, kiss his sweat damp hair. 

“I wish I could tell myself, the me right after the fire, how happy I’d be, one day,” you murmur and you feel him smile against your chest. 

He looks up at you and his eyes gleam golden. 


End file.
